Note: I do not own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I'm fooling with the time line and having Prophecy Girl come sometime in the summer. Harry is currently out of Hogwarts living with his Aunt and Uncle. Evil fiends. And this takes place after Order of the Phoenix.

Chapter 1: The Shrieking Shack and Unexpected Reunion.

Forces and natures both horrendous and powerful had long since trashed the place, furniture was tattered and torn, curtains hung limply weighed by dust of ages of abandonment. The local villagers claimed that it was haunted though any evidence hadn't been called to recent memory. Except that had changed one dark night in July.

Rubble and the few things left, if not whole, not entirely smashed to smithereens, were being hurled into rickety wood walls. They erupted with impact; sending shards of jagged material at the aggressor's already scarred face. His breath came out in ragged sobs that were timed with the explosion of each of his projectiles. It was not unlike the tantrum he had thrown a number of weeks ago inside his Professor's office.

Pain was something that sixteen-year-old Harry Potter was much accustomed to. But tonight, the night of his sixteenth birthday, the grief that had welled up inside of him caused by a gift Sirius must have ordered weeks ago was too much for him to take. He had snuck out of the house. A feat that was made both less and more remarkable considering the Wizard-hating family, his family, which he lived with during his time away from school.

It helped little having found out the reason for his detainment with the Dursley's, his mother's sister's family. It didn't make their abuse any easier to take and didn't help the long summer pass any quicker.

Since returning to the place he needed to call home for his own protection, Harry had not been the silent but obedient nephew. He had been there a few hours before a row had erupted between he and Uncle Vernon. The big brut of man had staggered toward him menacingly, warning him that if his freakish friends did as they had promised there would be more then harsh words passed between them. Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Mad-Eye Moody had all threatened Uncle Vernon in the very much same way the brutish man terrorized his nephew, if they received ill reports from Harry.

Harry hadn't cared either way. He had suddenly found himself unwilling to measure up to the wizarding worlds expectations, pressed upon him by a prophecy, nor did he wish to drag another of his friends into a dangerous situation that would get another one of them killed. In the young wizard's mind he was just a mark for a target, one that had already nearly crushed him before.

In fact he bore the scar of his first encounter with the most powerful and the most evil wizard in decades, centuries even. It ran across his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt, the result from a killing curse when he was just a tiny baby.

That was the evil that Lord Voldemort promised. That he would steep so low to attack a defenseless baby, killing both Harry's father and mother in the process. And it was because of Voldemort, or to most wizard's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who, that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had recently been murdered.

As his thoughts once again turned to the object of his mad rage, Harry picked up a cracked vase. Missing a chunk out of it's rim, it might have once been pretty with violet flowers that were enchanted to open and close as though with the changing of the season. He wasted no time drawing in its beauty; instead he cocked his arm back and flung it at the nearest wall.

Short of impact it paused, hovering there as though a string had suddenly attached itself to the delicate vase and had forbidden such wreckage. Disbelievingly, Harry starred at the vase for several moments before turning on his heal in understanding.

There bathed by the light of not quite a full moon, was Remus J. Lupin, both his father and godfather's best friend and the only werewolf Harry knew. His wand was pointed at the vase still hanging precariously in the air over Harry's shoulder.

"I think the Shrieking Shack has taken enough abuse in its life time don't you?" Professor Lupin asked gently, flicking his wand forward so that the vase came towards his hand and he caught it quickly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry said. Hastily he dashed the angry tears that had been falling during his destruction of the Shrieking Shack, the place where he had learned the truth about Sirius Black. "You shouldn't be out, you need your rest."

It was true; the transformation to werewolf was a taxing and sickening experience, often leaving Lupin looking more fatigued and aged then his years would tell. Harry had seen the transformation himself and wondered if half the wizards that shunned werewolves would take the same approach if they saw the pain it caused them.

"Professor Snape has concocted my potion and added something to keep me strong until after the transformation," Lupin answered easily, sitting on the lone and ragged bed inside the room. "A better question would be why you are out of bed? Not to mention how you managed to give Tonks the slip."

Nymphadora Tonks, a slightly klutzy auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had been given the undesirable lot of guarding Harry. "I sent Hedwig to knock a few bins over, while Tonks was investigating I went out the window," Harry answered sullenly.

Lupin sighed heavily, a sense of a growl deep inside his voice. "Harry, you must realize the necessity of taking the utmost caution. However much I might understand your actions tonight, I cannot condone them. This was not what Sirius gave his life for."

"You wouldn't..." Harry started to but cut himself off as a rock of emotion lodged itself in his throat. There was still apart of him that was angry with Professor Lupin for not letting him go through that stupid flimsy veil and pull Sirius back out. As much as his head tried to convince him otherwise his heart was sure that his godfather was just waiting beyond that veil, perhaps with his arm reaching out for Harry to take it.

A look of kind concern and deep affection appeared over the werewolf's haggard face and he crossed the room to Harry. He rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let me take you to your Aunt and Uncle's. We can speak there if you'd like."

Harry looked around the otherwise shack, knowing that it was useless to argue. Why had he come here? To feel Sirius' presence?

He thought of that night, two years ago when he, Ron, and Hermione had been swept in the intrigue of betrayal and vengeance. If only he had done something differently, kept a better eye on Wormtail, perhaps Sirius would have been free these last couple of years. Maybe he wouldn't have been so desperate to leave Grimmauld Place and rescue Harry.

No matter how many times he went down that thought path, he found himself at the center of it. All in all, it was his fault that Sirius had died, his fault for not listening to those that had never led him astray before. That burden nearly crushed the air out of his lungs.

"It's not my home," Harry muttered. "It's the place I reside."

"Still there are things to be done. Your things to pack so that you can return with me to headquarters."

"Alright," he conceded weakly, thankful at least that he'd finally get to see Ron and Hermione. "There's nothing here anyway."

"Not after you've finished with it," Lupin chided gently. After a moments silence, Lupin continued. "Before I forget. Happy Birthday Harry."

From out of his shabby wizards robes he pulled out a tiny cube. At first glance it looked like one of the Muggle's colored cubes that he'd seen Dudley ignore, but when he looked closer he saw that it was enchanted, giving it a shiny glimmer. Harry took it in his hands and it fit snugly in his palm.

"What is it?" he asked, giving his former Professor a questioning look.

"That's for you to find out," Lupin answered, letting Harry take the stairs before him. "It's a puzzle, Harry. Hopefully one that will lead you to some peace."

Harry pocketed the strange cube, with it's shimmering colored tiles and wondered what it's cryptic message carried.

They came to the ordered line of houses on Privet Drive. Harry, however, didn't experience the usual feeling of a man about to be wrongfully incarcerated that accompanied the sight of his Aunt and Uncle's perfect home. He would only have to be there long enough to collect his school things, the presents that his friends had set him, and the silver compass watch that was his last gift from Sirius.

He drew out his key and went to press it in the lock when the door swung open with just a gentle touch. Harry felt his heart thump in his chest as he exchanged a concerned look with his former Professor. "There's something wrong," he whispered.

"Perhaps they just forgot to lock it," Lupin proposed, but Harry could hear his doubt.

Harry went to push the door open, but was suppressed by Professor Lupin. "Get behind me, Harry," he shot tightly to his young friend. His wand was in his hand seemingly without moving. With is free hand he prodded the door. It opened only half way.

"What is it?" Harry asked, swallowing down his fear and placing his hand on his own wand that sat inside his back pocket.

"It's wedge against something," Lupin whispered. "Best get your wand out, Harry."

With some trepidation, Harry drew out his wand. Not just last year, he had been in trouble with the Ministry of Magic for using magic outside of school. Of course, they had seemed to have thought that Dementors weren't a big enough threat for Harry to feel intimidated by. He stuck his hand out just behind Lupin's back.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked, following close behind Lupin.

"She's out looking for you," Lupin answered. "Half the Order is."

The entire house, once so prim and proper, looked as though Remus had transformed inside of it. Lamps were shattered, the couch cushions had been upturned and left akimbo, the rocking chair was on it's side, its wood slates scratched but still intact. The pole of a lamp had caught the door and Lupin gently kicked it aside. Harry could hardly believe that it was the same house he had left a few hours ago.

Down the hall and towards the kitchen, Harry could hear a sort of huffing sound that repeated in integral moments. Very much like the sound of a fan.

On the back of his neck, Harry's tiny hairs stood up on end and unconscious shivers ran down his neck. He was so preoccupied with the strange repetitive sound that he didn't notice when Professor Lupin paused and nearly bowled into the werewolf. "Maybe you should stay behind, Harry."

"And leave you here alone?" Harry shot back incredulous. "I think not."

Lupin started to smile, but then the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. "Fine, but you must do everything I tell you. Even if it means leaving. Agreed?"

Harry nodded, then pointed towards the kitchen door. "Through there?"

A swing door lead to the kitchen and Lupin flung it open.

Breath caught and stayed inside of Harry's chest as he saw the tableau before him. Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley's hulking forms were leaning over the thin frame of Aunt Petunia. For the space of a heartbeat Harry feared that Voldemort had found away past the protection spell Albus Dumbledore had set up to keep Harry and the Dursley's safe from the evil wizard, but then he saw it. A red splotch, no bigger then a Harry's fist sat high up on Aunt Petunia's chest.

The huffing sound was actually the sputtering sobs of Uncle Vernon, how clasped his wife's thin hand in his own as though to keep her anchored. Harry felt his heart go out to them and his vision inexplicably blurred. While Lupin moved forward to check on Harry's aunt, the young wizard could not move. He was frozen in his place, his wand pointed at the kitchen sink, but his head turned down at what was left of the only family he had.

"Vernon, what happened?" Lupin asked, kneeling next to hulking form.

"Burglar," he sputtered, his face red and splotchy from tears. "Came into the house...wanted some of Petunia's jewelry and other things. Wasn't fast enough. He had a gun."

Lupin's face paled to nearly the color of the moon he feared, his face snapping to Harry. "Harry go back to the Shack," he ordered, fear making his words tense.

As though he had been petrified Harry could not move. He could barely even register the words. His mind was reeling on a kaleidoscope. His vision was blurred and no matter how many times he blinked to clear it, he couldn't help but see the swimming red mark on Aunt Petunia's chest.

"Vernon get Dudley and yourself to the police," Lupin said, leaping to his feet. "Stay away from the house as long as possible."

Uncle Vernon seemed not to be in the same state as Harry and just continued to weep over his wife's body. "Mobilius," Lupin shouted, pointing his wand at Vernon. Instantly the hulking form shot to his feet and started to pry Dudley from his mother's side. Lupin went back to Harry's side.

"Harry we can't remain here. Voldemort most likely has this place watched, waiting for such an occurrence. The barrier is gone," Lupin said, shaking him. For once not afraid to touch his former pupil.

Giving himself a mental shake, Harry turned to face the werewolf. It was an effort to do just this. "Voldemort did this?" he stuttered.

"I don't think so," Lupin assured him. "But he will take advantage of the situation." He picked up half a plate from the floor and pointed his wand to it muttering, "Portus."

"What?" Harry said dazed as Lupin pressed the plate into his hand.

"I'll get your trunk. Are all your schoolbooks inside?" Harry indicated that they were. "Good. I'll grab whatever else I think you might need." He glanced at his watch. "That's a portkey to Hogwart's. I'll met you there. Whatever you do don't leave the school, understand?"

It was the one thing that Harry could comprehend.

A sea of books laid out on the library table, masking the cherry wood finish from the lone occupant. It was the middle of the night, early in August and Rupert Giles had rolled the sleeves of his shirt and had removed his tweed jacket to fight against the summer heat. He earned for the school year where Sunnydale High was pumped with air conditioning and filled the musty library with cool humidity. But school had let out rather uneventfully and Giles was forced to research in the heat of the night.

It hadn't been too difficult to get access to the library from Principal Snyder. He had just informed the horrid man that he had cleared it with the City Council to re-catalogue the library. Despite the heat he preferred meeting his Slayer and her group in the library rather then in his own tiny flat. There was also the accommodating fact that Willow could use the schools computer system to 'hack' into the information sources they needed. There was ample space for Buffy's training, and a number of times Xander had commented on how close the local Doublemeat Palace was.

Right now Xander and Willow were out purchasing snacks, while Buffy did a routine sweep of the cemeteries surrounding the small town of Sunnydale. It was likely going to be a long night of research. Since killing the Anointed One, the vampire activity had been haphazard and unpredictable. Buffy having faced seven vampires one night to only find a fledgling the next. Giles hoped that with the aid of the Codex, a book of prophecies that the ensouled vampire Angel had obtained for him, they could decipher the Master's true intent.

They had all been immersed in demon text, cross-referencing with the Codex, for some sign of what was to come. He glanced at his watch, Buffy would be back from her sweep soon and would demand answers. She could be quite forceful despite her protests against her destiny and was unlike any Slayer that he had read about in the Watcher's diaries.

When the double doors to the library swung open, Giles did not glance up from his Rumaic glyphs covering his recent object of study. "Buffy how was patrol?" he asked, his words slurred by the arm of his glasses he held between his teeth.

There wasn't an answer and he wondered if Buffy was performing one of her silent treatments that she had pulled from time to time. A sullen, pouty, Buffy was worse then the overly cheerful, snide, Buffy.

Glancing up, ready to give any sort of consolation the moody Slayer needed at the moment, Giles glasses fell from his lips. "Good Lord," he muttered. "Remus?"

"Hello Rupert," the werewolf muttered stepping further into the library. "I suspect your surprised to see me."

The years had not been kind to the werewolf, Giles automatically took notice of his thin frame and the glint of silver that cut through the sandy hair. Still, he couldn't help but see the boy he'd known in those pale eyes.

"That would be quite the understatement," Giles said evenly, rising from the table. "Is James with you?" He was surprised at the bitterness in his tone. It had been decades since he had last seen any of the Marauders.

Remus winced. "I was afraid that the news had not reached you."

"Yes, well, there is a reason for that," Giles said coldly. There was something not right here. Something that Buffy had once referred to as 'Spidersense'. And why was Remus holding his arm in such an odd manner, as though he were resting it on someone's shoulder. Certainly, the wizard did not have an invisible girl with him.

"Rupert you must put the past aside," Remus said, taking another step forward.

Giles scoffed. "And why should I do that? I don't remember any of you being so charitable the last time we met." He stuck his hands in his pockets, glaring at the werewolf balefully.

Of it's own accord the hand that Giles had noticed to be quite unusual rocketed backward and strangely enough it took a struggle for Remus to bring it back. "James is dead, Rupert."

The Watcher felt his knees go to jelly. "Dead?"

"For some time now," Remus said sympathetically. "But that isn't why I came."

"And what could be more important then that?" Giles asked caustically.

Remus prodded the air and out of no where a hand appeared and pulled at the thin air. As it did, a boy, around the age of his Slayer appeared with raven hair, that seemed intent on going every which way, and emerald green eyes. Right now, his boyish features were screwed up in a disgruntled frown. Giles would have been blind to not see the resemblance between this boy and James Potter, but still his mind refused to make the connection. He searched Remus imploringly.

"Rupert, I'd like you to met your nephew, Harry Potter."